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My brother, Brian, came when he could. At least, that was what he said. He had work, he had stress, and he had Chloe, his wife.
Chloe was 30 years old, polished and pretty in a way that always felt planned. Perfect nails. Perfect hair.
Perfect timing when there was attention to be claimed.
But while I was spending nights at the hospice holding Mom’s hand, Chloe seemed more interested in one thing: my mom’s $50,000 vintage diamond ring.
The ring had been in our family for decades. It was not just expensive. It was history. My grandmother had worn it first, then Mom. It had a wide gold band and a diamond that caught the light like a tiny star.
When I was a kid, I used to sit on Mom’s bed and twist it gently around her finger while she told me stories about family, love, and promises that mattered.
Chloe saw the price tag.
I saw my mother. »Did she say who gets it? » Chloe kept asking, even before the funeral.
The first time she asked, we were standing in the hospice hallway beside a vending machine humming too loudly.
I stared at her. « Chloe, Mom is still here. »
She pressed her lips together as if I had been rude. « I’m just asking. These things get complicated after someone passes. »
I walked away because I did not trust myself to answer.
But she asked again two days later.
Then again, after Mom stopped speaking. Then again, when Brian and I were choosing flowers for the service.
« Did she ever put anything in writing? » Chloe asked, scrolling on her phone like she was checking a shopping list.
Brian looked up sharply. « Chloe, please. »
« What? » she said. « I’m being practical. »
Mom always said it would stay in the family, but never wrote it down. Chloe took that as her opportunity.
By the time the funeral came, I felt hollowed out.
I had cried so much that my face hurt.
The house was full of relatives and friends afterward, everyone dressed in black, speaking in low voices, carrying paper plates of food nobody really wanted.
People hugged me. They told me Mom had been wonderful. They told me she was at peace. I nodded because that was what people expected. But all I could think about was how her room still smelled like lavender lotion and how her slippers were still by the bed.
Chloe wore a fitted black dress and moved through the room like she was hosting something. She accepted condolences with one hand on Brian’s arm and the other resting near her chest, showing off a bracelet I had never seen before.
At one point, Aunt Marcy squeezed my shoulder and murmured, « Your mother would be proud of how strong you’re being. »
I almost laughed.
Strong? I felt like glass.
Then Chloe cleared her throat loudly.